Tale as Old as Time
by KarotsaMused
Summary: Chad Danforth grows up. Coach Bolton isn't sure if he's helping. Boltonforth and a coming-of-age.


Okay, guys, I wrote HSM fic. Augh.

High School Musical, its characters, settings, and all other things related to its glory are property of Disney. I'm writing this for no profit whatsoever.

This is a piece that is NWS. It contains explicit sexual situations, so if you are legally not mature enough to do so, don't read this. Also, if you don't like male/male relationships, or if you think Chad is destined for Taylor and they will So Totally Get Married OMG, that's fine. Just don't read this. If, however, you are open to non-heteronormative relationships as it applies to Anything Disney, Greetings and Salutations!

I owe a big one to Runefallstar because she is a big jerk and gave me the idea, and also beta'd. Finally getting this mofo on Yey!

* * *

He watched through the window into Coach Bolton's office. He saw him bend over his desk, running his fingers into his hair and clenching. The clicks of Ms. Darbus' heels echoed through the rest of the locker room and faded away as she tromped into the hall, her offended snortings ringing off the walls. 

Chad stepped forward, then, and stood in the doorway. "Coach?"

Coach Bolton's head snapped up, his shoulders tensed. Then, recognizing Chad, he relaxed. "Oh, it's you."

"Nice way to greet one of your star players."

Bolton laughed, a short bark. "Is there anything I can do for you, Danforth?"

Chad smiled a little, stepping in further. He kicked the door shut, and the latch caught with a quiet click. "Saw you pulling your hair out."

Bolton shook his head. "Troy. The musical. _Twinkle Towne_-." The last was said with an exasperated wave of his hand. "He doesn't need that sort of distraction. I don't know what his problem is."

Chad nodded, coming to lean his hip on the front of Bolton's desk. "Look, you know he knows better. It's why he's captain. He'll snap out of it. I'll work on him."

Bolton gave him a wry smile. Chad grinned back. "Thanks," he muttered, and scratched the back of his neck.

He waited, the barest moment, watching Chad's eyes travel the breadth of his shoulders.

"Not the time, Danforth."

Chad almost frowned, then swallowed. His eyes were determined, brown and warm. "Jack."

Bolton almost flinched. Chad's tone sent a spike of heat down to his groin. "Coach. It's Coach, Mr. Danforth."

Chad bit his lips. "Jack," he murmured, and leaned closer over the desk. "_Please_."

Bolton swallowed, his teeth clenching. "Chad."

The movement was quick, almost enough to take Bolton by surprise as Chad slipped around the desk and beneath it, crouching hidden from the world by a sheet of metal and _thisclose_ to the hot erection already half-hard in Bolton's slacks. _Ohgod_ and he leaned forward and pulled his pants open and swallowed his cock, tasting salt and bitter and skin and pain from Bolton's fingers catching hard in his hair and pulling but _not making him stop_--

* * *

Chad woke, sheened in sweat, and hardly had the time to choke back a moan before his legs moved of their own accord, propelling him toward the longest shower of his life, school bus be damned.

* * *

Chad felt it then, shouting from the depths of his gut. "What team?"

The answering rush, the voices of his teammates around him was nothing compared to slamming his hand down on the basketball Coach Bolton held and seeing the smile in his eyes, the fierce pride.

Chad couldn't stop it, and only shouted louder, unable to hide his need.

* * *

Coach Bolton swore to himself in private, long after the last players had left the locker room, after the janitors had cleaned up, the showers had been hosed out and the lost socks, the forgotten jerseys had been dropped in a bin behind the lockers. He stayed, drawing up plays and plans and reading old newspapers and trying, _trying_ to focus on the championship.

All he could see, though, was Danforth. His ferocity, the way he turned to him for approval and appreciation, the way he grinned with all his teeth and the way he smiled with just his lips and tipped his head back and wore those Goddamn tight necklaces--

The phone rang and Bolton jumped, guilty.

His wife was working late again, and would miss dinner.

"Alright, honey." _And by the way, I'm gay. I want_--

Coach Bolton pushed himself up suddenly, fast enough that his chair scraped against the floor with a shriek of metal. Chad's smile followed him as he left the locker room, phantom laughter echoing between the lockers.

* * *

"Hey, boys, Mrs. Bolton is on a business trip so it looks like it's guys' night. You want me to order a pizza?"

Troy looked over and smiled, following through with tossing a paper ball at Chad's head. "Yeah, dad, thanks."

"Pepperoni?"

"Brain food!" cried Chad, and laughed, nearly rolling off the sleeping bag he'd unrolled in the middle of Troy's bedroom. Another paper ball flew.

Mr. Bolton smiled at them, rolling his eyes. "Alright, alright, it'll be here in a few. Don't study too hard, now."

Troy grinned. "We won't, dad."

Chad snorted. "I _never_ study."

"Hey now," Bolton admonished. "You have to keep a 2.0 to stay on the team."

Chad smiled, feeling the corners of his lips just barely tug into a happy grin. "Yeah, coach, I know."

* * *

"Two seventeen Ay Em," Chad muttered to himself, sprawled on top of his sleeping bag. Troy had crept out hours before to meet Gabriella and wasn't going to be back before dawn, not on a Friday night.

They'd run out of pizza by seven, Coke by eight-thirty. Chad listened to the grumbling of his stomach and finally pushed himself to his feet.

He'd been a guest in the Bolton home so often he was more like family. He could find the fridge with his eyes closed, already knew not to drink Troy's mother's grapefruit juice, knew where she hid her secret chocolate stash, knew that popcorn in the Bolton microwave took three minutes and forty-six seconds with the right batch. He staggered to the staircase and stopped.

Moaning, rough and deep, undeniably _male_, came from downstairs. Chad crept closer, down the stairs, nearly on his hands and knees. The moaning grew louder, turning to rough swearing and wet slapping sounds that made the blood rush to Chad's cheeks.

He crouched on the first landing, just barely low enough to peek down beneath the floor level, between the banister supports. The television flickered, the volume nearly inaudible but loud enough to Chad's ears accustomed to silence. On the screen -- _ohgod_

Chad almost made a noise, but bit down hard on his lower lip. Coach Bolton, _Jack_ Bolton, Troy's dad, was sitting on the couch in the middle of the night watching porn. As long as Chad looked, he couldn't see a single woman on the screen.

Gay porn.

Chad had to stop when he saw subtle twitches of Bolton's right shoulder, watched his head fall back, and scrambled back up the stairs, shutting himself in the bathroom.

Chad bit down on his hand, the meat of his palm below his thumb. He knew better. He _knew_ better, that if he did anything it'd ruin Troy's dad, his best friend's father. It would destroy his chances for college. People might go to _jail._

Chad pressed his forehead to the cold tile floor of the shower and jerked himself off, legs spread wide.

* * *

The idea of the Reunion had been Zeke's idea. His amateur attempts at catering got good exercise, and nobody batted an eyelash when he brought Ryan Evans on his arm, the both of them smiling, and gave Ryan a cookie. They'd all found out, one way or another.

All of the Wildcats had made it, the entire team that had won the championship when Troy had only been a Junior. Some had finished their first year of college, some their third.

They'd all heard about the divorce. Troy had called the ones that needed to know, and the others had told. Their Coach and Troy's mom had parted ways. Amicably. Or close enough.

Like Zeke, some people tread softly near him.

Coach Bolton extended his hand and a smile, and Zeke took it. They shook hands. Coach Bolton pulled him in for a hug, a pat on his back. Zeke smiled, relief etched on his features.

Then,_ then_ they all laughed together.

* * *

God damn it, but Chad looked gorgeous. He'd grown up, gotten rid of two of his watches, started wearing collared shirts and pulling his ridiculous hair back into a ponytail.

His smile hadn't changed. Bolton had almost hoped he'd grow out of it, but no. The heat was there, just as it had been before.

Bolton shook his hand, and Chad held it for just the right amount of time.

"Coach."

"Danforth."

Chad's eyes slid toward Zeke, getting punched in the arm by one Troy Bolton. "What, no hug?"

When Bolton paused, blinking, Chad laughed, and pulled him close on his own. It was everything he'd known an embrace from another man to be. Masculine. Formal. Unthreatening. Not invasive in the least.

At least until Chad's lips brushed his ear.

And then he was gone, being half-tackled by two other members of the team.

* * *

He'd headed to the roof for a little peace, for the cold snap of fresh air bearing frost on its back. It almost drowned out the residual warmth in him, the shivering heat that Chad's unbroken attention had sent rushing through him.

Bolton watched the stream of white and red light that was the freeway winding through the hills, and tried to catch his breath.

"So here's where you went."

Bolton turned, looking over his shoulder.

Chad smiled at him, his hands in his pockets. "It's nice up here."

Inwardly, Bolton cursed. Haloed in the light from streetlamps, Chad was beautiful. "Mm."

Chad walked up beside him, leaned against the railing. He looked over, and after a moment slid his shoulder until it touched Bolton's, their arms pressed together.

"Don't," hissed Bolton, not looking over. "Don't do that."

"Why not?" Chad frowned, leaning closer. "I'm not in high school anymore. You... There's nothing in the way."

"Of_wha_t?" Bolton asked, trying to put on his best offended face. Chad didn't know. Chad _couldn't_ know--

Chad grabbed his arm, his grip tight. "Don't play that game. I saw you. In the middle of the night, watching two _guys_ fuck. You can't make me wait any more."

In his shock, Bolton could hardly respond when Chad pulled him close and kissed him hard enough to bruise his lips _- when did he get so strong? -_ and both Chad's hands caught on his belt and pulled it open. He staggered when Chad pushed him back against the railing, yanking his pants open and he almost stopped him then, both hands caught in Chad's hair and pulling hard.

But Chad looked up at him, moaning low in the back of his throat, and arched beneath him.

In that moment, Bolton found himself a weak man, and could only muffle his own groan at the first touch of Chad's tongue on his cock.

* * *

Bolton zipped his pants with shaky fingers, all too aware of Chad's eyes on him, hot and dark. The only thoughts his brain supplied were _You've done that before_ and _God, you're good_ and _Shouldn't have_ and _Fuck_.

Bolton could only waver for a moment before crouching beside him, and the awe in Chad's eyes, the way his mouth fell open when Bolton said, "Stay quiet," nearly killed him.

_I'm too old for this_ he thought, even as he reveled in the way Chad arched under his hands, the way he bit down on his fingers to keep from crying out, the way Chad never, ever looked away from him.

* * *

"Yeah, well. Since campus is a fifteen minute drive, it's not too bad. I'm about two blocks down."

Chad gave him a grin, one that spoke too little of hope and too much of certainty.

He'd lost the house in the arrangements. He'd agreed to it, so long as he got his car, his big screen. He'd given it to her, and her boyfriend, a man who loved her and who might actually be worth a woman as wonderful as his ex-wife.

Sometimes he missed it, living in an apartment with nice furnishings, but no yard, no basketball court for his son to practice with. But Troy was ten states away playing college ball and engaged to Gabriella Montez.

Chad, however, was entirely another matter. Chad had stayed close to home. And was in his doorway, with a bottle of wine and a cheesy grin.

* * *

"This is a bad idea. It's unethical."

"Tell me how," Chad challenged, practically straddling him on the couch. "As I see it, it might have been unethical when I was younger and under your care, and that's why I waited. And now," he gestured to himself, bare-chested and with the subtle sheen of a silver barbell in his left nipple, "I'm technically an adult, you're technically not in charge of me, and you're technically not tied to anybody else that could get in the way. It's perfectly legal. Perfectly ethical."

"Troy will hate it."

Chad paused, looking a bit stricken. He shook his head. "Yeah, well. I never said you had to shout anything from the rooftops."

Bolton pushed himself up, starting to move away. "I'm thirty years your senior. At least."

Chad shuddered with frustration. "I'm _not_ asking you to marry me, Jack!"

Bolton frowned. "Then what _do_ you want?"

Chad leaned forward, angry, blinking back the tears in the corners of his eyes. "_Fuck_ me. Twice a week. Every other day. Once a month if it makes you feel better! I don't care! I just. Want. You."

Bolton looked up into Chad's eyes, gone nearly black with emotion, and could see what he needed to do. He needed to stop, needed to make him go home, needed to push him out of this... whatever it was, this mess that would ruin both their lives and only end in heartbreak and more tears. God, Chad was crying. Over _him_.

"Liar," Bolton whispered, and kissed him, and held him until morning.

* * *

Chad came to him, shivering, vibrating with excitement. "I got signed."

"Where?" he asked, his heart leaping into his throat.

Chad smiled, shaky and brilliant and disbelieving. "New York. Coach, I'm going to _New York_."

Chad leapt into his arms, and they laughed together, and Bolton closed the door and kissed him like he'd never kiss him again.

* * *

The days were best when Florida played New York and Troy and Chad got to fight each other, fierce and dangerous and brilliant.

Then, Bolton watched them both, sitting in the front row and cheering until his voice went hoarse.

He followed his son across the country, welcomed by his pretty wife and adored by their baby son, listened to the sound of their daughter on the way as she beat a rhythm against the taut skin of Gabriella's belly.

When the baby girl was two, babbling happily and careening around on all fours, he found himself again shaking Chad's hand.

"Congratulations on the trade," he said, and found he meant it. Troy's joy at being reunited, at having his right-hand man on his team again, had suffused them all.

Chad smiled at him, bright and happy, and pulled him close for a hug. Masculine, formal, careful.

"Oh," said Chad, "and this... this is Marc. Marc, this is my coach from High School. Coach Bolton."

Marc stepped forward, and Bolton saw that he was tall, dark and striking in a way Chad was not, with a slight body that put him far from the basketball court.

Behind Marc, Bolton saw Chad's brown eyes on his face alone, his lower lip caught between his teeth on the same gnawing move he always made when he was nervous.

Marc looked him in the eye, and extended his hand. "It's nice to meet you, sir."

Bolton looked right back at him, shook his hand. It was warm, and surprisingly strong for its size. "Likewise, Marc," he answered. And smiled. "Call me Jack."

Behind Marc, Chad smiled, brilliant and beautiful.


End file.
